


What was in that candle's light/ that opened and consumed me so quickly?

by Littlemapleleaf



Category: Carmilla - J. Sheridan Le Fanu, Castlevania (Cartoon), 悪魔城ドラキュラ | Castlevania Series
Genre: Attempted Historical Accuracy, F/F, Lesbian Character of Color, Lesbian Vampires, POV Lesbian Character, Romance, Slow Burn, This Laura is not the typical interpretation, Useless Lesbian Vampire, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-08-11 01:06:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16465769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Littlemapleleaf/pseuds/Littlemapleleaf
Summary: With Dracula gone and a Devil Forgemaster in her possession, power is finally within Carmilla's reach. All she needs to do is go home to Styria and complete her preparations to fill the greatest seat in the vampire world- Wallachia's. And she is close. Everything is going to plan.Then she meets Laura.





	1. Voidstar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Thank you so much for reading my fanfiction! Carmilla, by the grace of some god, ended up being my favorite character in castlevania. This is my tribute to her, because I think she deserves some love.  
> I want to acknowledge that the novel which she comes from is about her preying on a young Styrian (as in Austrian) girl named Laura. In the novel, she has a history of going after young women. While this definitely feeds into the Victorian fears of the time, I'm trying to depict her in a more positive light here. Carmilla came out many years before Dracula did, and I am pretty sure inspired it. The fact that Carmilla expressed like, no attraction to women was the one thing I would have changed about Castlevania. Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.  
> This is the most self-indulgent thing I have ever written.   
> Thank you for reading, and enjoy!

_She was six, and couldn’t sleep. Her parents had left her for another hunting trip through Styria, her nursemaid already out for the night. The young girl clutched her pillow, staring into the shadows that cascaded from the moonlight, dripping from her bedroom furniture, the stone grey walls of her home. It was a schloss in which they lived, surrounded by farmland and villages, but no children her age. She pulled the covers tighter, shivering._

_It was so cold._

_She blinked. And then saw her. A pale face, young as her, head poking over the bedside. A girl, kneeling at her bed. Staring, smiling aristocratic and perfect. She reached out, and took her hand, and joined her in the bed._

_It was warm. Peaceful._

_Then- a pinprick at her chest, like two needles had pierced her skin._

_She cried, loud, at the pain, watching in horror as the other girl rolled from the bed, and disappeared into the darkness._

* * *

By the time they reached Styria, the horses had been replaced by an elaborate carriage, the openings beneath its rounded top covered by curtains. It was no velvet carriage, not the sort Carmilla would have preferred- there was no golden embroidery- but travel through Europe was difficult and her goal was to be as inconspicuous as possible.

With her soldiers shielding their skin from the sun, travel in the day was finally possible. Her stronghold wasn’t far, up a mountain not a few miles from a lower schloss, near her old village. Carmilla passed the few days left for travel in style, lounging in the carriage, drinking blood from a golden goblet just to spite Hector. The poor man was locked in there too, after all, though she had considered hitching him to the back of the carriage. Unfortunately, she needed him alive.

Hector glared at her from his place on the floor. By all accounts, it was an expression worthy of Dracula, just as hateful. But it was not a glare worthy of Carmilla, and so she stared back at him, sipping blood without breaking eye contact, without blinking. Hector scowled. Carmilla grinned.

_Humans,_ she thought.

“Bored?” she asked Hector, feeling rather bored herself. “Perhaps you’d like to go for a walk.”

Hector, by now used to this, didn’t respond.

Ah well. As long as he made her army, Carmilla didn’t care what he thought.

She sipped more blood. Then grimaced. Outside a human body for too long, it had gone cold and thick. Disgusting.

“Thirsty?” she left the goblet by Hector, then stood, balancing on the mobile carriage. Grabbing her cloak from where it hung in the rafters, she pulled the silk hood over her head, poking outside.

Sunset.

“My lady?” One of her soldiers, Hania, a young vampire from the Ottoman empire, swiveled in her seat to look at her.

“I was checking the time,” Carmilla said, “keep at it.”

“Yes, ma’am!”

Carmilla pulled her head within the carriage. Soon, perhaps, if they were near a village, she’d go on the hunt.

She was just beginning to consider the merits of going after a deer simply for the joy of the kill when Hector, by _some_ power, spoke.

“Carmilla?” his voice was soft, cautious, “I uh- I need the bathroom.”

“Wait for the usual stop, or go piss yourself.”

“It’ll smell.”

“This trick is so classic even _Dracula_ would notice, Hector.”

“I-” he silenced.

“That’s right. As always, _I win.”_

That was when the carriage stopped. Carmilla huffed, annoyed.

“Move, and you will die.”

The curtains spread far enough for her to pass through. Carmilla enjoyed a moment of the moon on her skin, before sneering down at the two drivers. Around them, her soldiers on horseback had also stopped. Everyone was looking at her.

“What’s the problem, then?”

In the distance, the mountain of her home loomed, the moon cutting a disk near its base. By midnight, it would frame it, like a painting. The place that had once belonged to her master, now hers. Forever.

“The uh- the bridge is broken.”

Carmilla glanced past the carriage. Indeed, the very bridge they had used to leave Styria in the first place was broken. Before them was a massive ravine, not the sort their horses could cross, with a frosty river at its bottom. If she wanted to keep the caravan, she would have to go around. And while _Carmilla_ might be able to run home quickly, her attendants were not so powerful. And there was always dear, sweet, near-useless, human Hector to think of, who could barely run as it was.

“We’ll go around,” Carmilla finally spat, “but speed up the horses. If we don’t make it back, we can camp at sunrise.” She snapped her head back indoors. There was to be no hunting for her tonight.

“Damn bridges,” she muttered. If she couldn’t gather her power, her horde, at home quick enough, some other vampire noble might take Dracula’s old chair. And now this- this bridge of all things, was hindering her. Once again, she turned to Hector, half considering simply abandoning him there on the road.

He met her eyes, then looked away. Thinking. Always thinking. He had been so easy to manipulate, so lost in his own thoughts and ideas of what people were. He had thought her well-meaning, once. It had been fun to break that idea.

Did she trust her soldiers alone with him? If she, perhaps, went forwards to her fortress alone, her caravan could carry him there without her. She could keep the army she needed, get home in time to seize the throne.

For the third time that night (she was beginning to feel like a worm, sticking up from the ground) Carmilla poked her head from the carriage innards.

“Hania!”

“Yes, my Lady!”

Hania was saluting in an instant, so quickly she nearly knocked herself from the carriage.

“You are to take our luggage, as quickly as you can, around this ravine to meet me in my fortress. I am putting you in charge. Can you handle the challenge?”

Perhaps Hania was too young, too inexperienced. But when she read the rest of her soldiers, their faces were blank, their personalities missing. She was the most individual of all of them, the most loyal, Carmilla’s best bet.

“I can, my Lady!”

“Then I’ll be on my way.”

Carmilla turned back inside, gathering a few vials of blood, an emergency tent, her travel cloak, a gold-engraved longsword with rubies in the hilt. Not the most elegant of weapons, but it would do if needed. All of these things she slung over her back, with the exception of the longsword, too large to sheath. That, she carried in her hands. Then, with one final glance over her shoulder to flip Hector off, she stepped outside.

With a single jump, Carmilla cleared the ravine, speeding down the forest. Had she less baggage, she would have transformed into a massive, black cat. Instead, she stretched her heels far as they could go, her body a distorted flash to onlookers. Wind flapped through her silver hair, tore at her dress, licked at her heels. She was the beams of the moon, she could fit through any opening, tear down trees, suck her enemies dry. Had death incarnate not already existed, she would take his title. This must have been how Dracula had felt, at the height of his power, before that strange woman had turned him towards humans. This was what it meant to be a vampire.

The coach, travelling down the road, which she ran straight into? That was the mistake of a human.

Mild regret filled her body the moment her face crashed into wood. Splinters scraped at her face. She flew, for a moment, through the air. This was Austria- her Austria, and yet going by so fast she barely recognized it, did not recognize the face of the man who watched in horror and she spun down a cliffside. Wonderful. Carmilla could not wait to wake up in a few hours, covered in bruises, thirstier than Godbrand was horny.

Her back cracked against a tree, and down she slid, the moon reflecting like a diamond in her eye. Then something far more beautiful obscured it.

She was a young woman, perhaps a bit older than twenty. Her skin was brown, her hair shimmering black. There were stars in the void of her eyes, with a soft mouth twisted in concern, a warm hand coming to rest on Carmilla’s cheek.

“Miss?” the woman inquired, and her voice was a silver bell, “miss? Are you okay?”

Carmilla was clearly delirious and injured. What a dumbass. Yet here this human was, kneeling to cradle Carmilla’s neck with her hot touch.

“I’m taking you inside, okay? Bare with me.” The ground disappeared beneath her as the woman cradled her bridal style, head propped in the crook of her neck.

The urge to bite flared, a hot, white fire that fizzled as quickly as it came. Diffusing through her vision, darkness wrapped its caressing fingers about Carmilla, and rocked her gently down to sleep.


	2. Smoking Silver

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're reading this, thank you for sticking around for the second chapter. I hope that it'll be a lot more engaging than the first, as that one functioned pretty much as a setup. I also didn't expect the story to progress this quickly, but here we are.  
> Carmilla is fun but incredibly difficult to write.  
> Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy!

Carmilla woke up thirsting for blood.

Sunrise spilled a streak of gold through closed curtains at the window, coloring the red velvet of her bed a soft orange. A bit singed her finger as she tapped at it, almost curious at its small infraction to her presence. Light was a stranger to her, an enemy, as odd as Dracula, as the old men who ruled her world. This filtered, it was harmless.

As well as the outside world, for the time being. She was in a small, grey room, cocooned in a comfortable bed. The walls were ancient and grey, decorated with gold leaf paintings in a style that was distinctly not-Styrian. At one end of the room was a dresser, upon which rested a polished mirror. Carmilla caught a vision of her face- scratched to hell, bruised, as though it were rotting. She grimaced, unwilling to think of herself as a corpse.

Just behind her head was the image of a door, wooden, with an iron lock. Abruptly, that door swung forward, and in walked a young woman. She was, Carmilla realized, the young woman who’d picked her up last night, just after the carriage accident.

Carmilla turned. Her face was just as beautiful as before, soft, round. Her hair reached long, cascading far down to her waist. She was wearing a modest gown.

 _She resembles Raman,_ Carmilla thought, recalling the woman she had tried very hard to murder not long ago. She, like Dracula, was probably dead now. The thought sent a streak of _something_ down Carmilla’s cold heart.

Then she watched the woman’s face light up, smile warm. Nevermind. She was nothing like Raman.

The woman walked closer, the scent of a steaming stew signifying her approach, just barely masking the scent of blood exuding from her body. Warm, fresh blood. And Carmilla was ravenous.

“Ah,” noted the woman, walking in, “you’re awake.”

Carmilla tackled her. Such brutish measures were not her usual style, but she was starving, and the woman smelled delicious. Her neck was close, closer. Carmilla leaned down, happy to have her prey, before finding her head pressed into the carpet. The woman had dropped the tray, and straddled Carmilla, pressing a hand to her shoulder. Carmilla jerked upwards, hissing.

“Shh,” the woman whispered, “it’s okay. You’re safe now, miss. You’re safe.”

Carmilla stared, incredulous, halting her attack. She was so appalled by the fact that the woman was trying to help her that she had lost the motivation to drink. This woman had no idea she was a fucking vampire. Humans were so stupid. Still- she could wait the rest of the day for blood. This woman was _interesting._

Resting her head against the floor, Carmilla relaxed.

“I’m sorry,” she moaned, contorting her face with false fear, “I’ve had a horrible accident, and I don’t know where I am.”

“You can trust me, I promise. I won’t hurt you.”

The woman moved off her, standing, before offering Carmilla her hand. Carmilla took it, allowing herself to be helped up.

“My name is Carmilla,” Carmilla said, curtseying.

“You can call me Laura.”

“Laura?” Carmilla purred. “What a pretty name.”

Laura’s face reddened. “Ah, thank you! Carmilla is a very pretty name too.”

She began to twirl a strand of hair around her fingertip, eyes drifting to the curtains. The other hand clenched and unclenched by her side. In her heels, she was taller than Carmilla, her gown hanging nicely off her body.

There was, Carmilla had noted in her several hundred years of life, a fine line between a vampire’s bloodlust and regular lust. Laura, it seemed, had hit the sweet spot. Vaguely, Carmilla wondered if this was what Dracula had felt upon meeting his pet human all those years ago. Except pet humans were interesting. Strong as she was, this human seemed to blush dully like a virginal maid. Had anyone ever tried to sacrifice her to satan before? Carmilla would be shocked if nobody had.

“Oh dear,” Laura gasped, very suddenly.

Carmilla noticed two things at that moment.

One: the food Laura had been carrying was now spilled over the carpet, and they were both covered in it.

Two: Carmilla’s dress, now torn and ruined with mud, hung over a chair by her heels. She was wearing nothing but a white slip. Laura seemed quite embarrassed by this. If only Carmilla was wearing her heels. It would have been fun to loom over the other woman.

“I’ll set up a bath for you,” Laura said, “and have the maids clean this up.”

“And you? Shall we bathe together?”

Laura raised her eyebrows.

“I am not certain that’s proper, Miss Carmilla. A woman of my standing must preserve her modesty, you know. I imagine you have been raised the same.”

Carmilla stilled.

“Of course,” she said, with a fake smile.

Laura’s words had stirred something dark and hateful within her. Spiteful feelings from her days as a human which still lingered in her very bones.

 _I feel dead,_ she had once said, to the man who would one day turn her. _I feel like a corpse. Give me the power to not feel like a corpse._

And the man, the man who had promised her the world and used her like every other man she’d known had, said _yes. After this, you’ll feel alive forever._

She’d had drunk his blood, and he hers. The bloodlust had been so powerful those first few days that her master had chained her up in the basement.

She had broken free.

There seemed to be no resentment in Laura, though. She was playing her part beautifully. One day she would become engaged to a Styrian noble. That would be the end of things, for her.

“There is clothing in the wardrobe,” Laura told her, “feel free to put on whatever fits. I’ll have a maid find you when the bath is ready. We can have supper at sunset.”

“Thank you.” Carmilla replied. “I’m in your debt.”

“I must see to dinner preparations. Do you have any requests?”

 _You._ “I’ve always been partial to… bread.”

“Aren’t we all? Have a nice day.”

With that, Laura turned, leaving the room. Carmilla admired her back as she went, just because she could.

* * *

After her bath Carmilla ended up selecting a sleek, wine-dark dress from the wardrobe with billowing sleeves, accented with gold. Hilariously, it had a crucifix embroidered into its front. Carmilla briefly entertained the idea of Crusading, which she had tried once in the twelfth century and found awfully dull.

Laura came to fetch her at dinner. By this point, the sun streak had moved across the room, and Carmilla had moved from intrigue to boredom. Her mind wandered to her castle on its hill- she would have to get back to it tonight. But she’d only a small idea of where she was. Which schloss was this? There were so many and they all looked the same.

“Please, follow me,” Laura said, and Carmilla did.

Laura had changed into dark blue, her gown trailing behind her on the floor. They wandered down hallways, stairs, lined with statues and gold and all sorts of riches which Carmilla had no eye for. Her attention had been caught by Laura’s hair, into which bright flowers had been braided. It swished with every step like a pendulum, back and forth, back and forth.

 _I may have a problem,_ Carmilla thought.

Tonight, she reminded herself. After she’d had her fun with Laura, she would drink the woman dry. Just like she needed. Cruelty was, after all, Carmilla’s strongest trait.

* * *

The dining room consisted of a dark wood table, nearly the room’s full size, underneath a crystal chandelier. A long, deep blue table runner spread across its surface, cushioned chairs placed with the sort of deliberateness one found in church architecture. Carmilla sat at one side of the table, Laura the other. Neither were in the head or the foot, with the most intricately decorated seating. Placemats had been set before each of them, upon which sat silver cutlery, silver bowls, a silver goblet to drink from. The maids placed trays of food between them, set up on- shockingly- silver serving bowls, silver gravy boats. Then they disappeared. Carmilla and Laura were completely alone.

 _I could kill her now,_ Carmilla thought, studying Laura’s face as the woman lifting the cover of the serving bowl. It was some sort of spicy stew, filled with meat and vegetables. Laura spooned the stew- and some rice- atop both of their plates, which was awfully nice of her considering such an act was far beneath her noble status.

Carmilla went to grab her spoon, stopping herself just in time. It was silver. Everything was silver. _Who owned this much silver cutlery?_

Laura, apparently.

This was fine. Carmilla just wouldn’t eat.

“Are you not hungry?” Laura asked, voice sweet. “I had this made especially for you. It’s got chicken in it, to help you recover. You’re still injured.”

A desire to please Laura warmed Carmilla’s cold, shriveled heart.

_What the fuck._

Carmilla stared with a feeling of impending dread at the meal.

“Go on,” Laura urged, in that bell clear voice, “go ahead and eat.”

Carmilla had an excuse half formulated in her head when her fingers flew to the spoon instead. She held it delicately, between her claws, but couldn’t manage to keep it there. The silver burned her fingers, white hot. She cursed, fumbling with the spoon.

Laura tilted her head. “Is something the matter?”

“I find myself quite clumsy today, it seems.”

Carmilla tried the spoon again, clutching it with smoking, trembling fingers. She dipped it into the stew, grateful that the smoke of her skin seemed to blend miraculously with the steam, and slid it between her lips. A wonderful, rich taste bloomed in her mouth,  which was ruined by the burning of her lips.

“What’s the matter?” Laura asked as she leaned forward expectantly, resting her chin on her clasped fingers. “Is the stew,” there was a pause as Laura tried to hold in a laugh, “too hot, perhaps?”

Oh fuck.

She knew.

Carmilla’s eyes narrowed.

She threw the spoon in Laura’s face. Then she threw herself in Laura’s face. The woman rolled to the side, grabbing a knife (a stupid, silver knife) off the table, brandishing it in Carmilla’s direction.

“Alright, vampire,” Laura snarled, “lets talk.”

“I’m really thirsty,” Carmilla said, “so please make this quick so I can eat you.”

Laura snorted. “Typical.”

Her entire demeanor had changed. Where before Laura had been soft, demure, now she stood straight, legs wide apart, feet planted on the earth. Now she owned the space around her, rather than ghosting through it like a lost soul.

No wonder she was in charge of the schloss. Still, she was only human. Carmilla could kill her, easily.

“You’re not very good at being human,” Laura told her. “I had you figured out when you hit the tree and didn’t die.”

“Don’t bother speaking. You’ll be dead before you can get a sentence in.”

“Do all vampires posture this much?”

“This isn’t posturing. It’s the truth. I’m going to kill you now. I really am quite thirsty.”

Carmilla pressed forwards, stalking towards Laura, forcing the woman backwards, a spider playing with its food. She bared her teeth, grinning. Laura’s face was closed off, determined. Those voidstar eyes bearing into Carmilla. Deep, black mirrors, revealing the monster forcing Laura into a corner.

Laura pressed the silver knife to Carmilla’s neck.

“You don’t think I could stop that in an instant?”

Laura shoved the knife into Carmilla’s jugular. Carmilla hissed, grabbing Laura’s wrist, pulling it away, but it was too late. The knife had been a distraction.

Laura had, in the moment, pressed their lips together, running her free hand through Carmilla’s spider-thread hair.

She was warm, soft. It felt… nice. Nicer than her old master, than anyone ever before. Perhaps it was because Laura was a woman. Perhaps it was Laura’s hands, tugging at her hair, gentle. Only idiots were gentle with Carmilla. She was a murderous viper, she was death. But Laura had now moved her lips down to Carmilla’s neck, as though _she_ were the vampire. Not biting. Just placing her head in the sharp angle between shoulder and neck. Resting it there. Soft. Intent.

Warm.

“You are doing a poor job of killing me, Carmilla,” Laura murmured.

“You’ve… piqued my interest.”

“Then we need to talk.”

Carmilla sighed, pushing away from Laura.

“Fine,” she said, “I’ll bite. What is it you want?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Critique is always welcome, but please be kind!  
> At any rate, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. The next one will focus more on developing Laura, which I am very excited to do. This iteration of her is very fun to write, as I wanted Carmilla's future wife to be able to match her. I hope I'm not making Carmilla act like too much of a dumbass in this.  
> See you next time!


	3. Broken Gravestones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey thanks for sticking around! College has been kicking my ass lately, and I've been reevaluating where I want this story to go. Things have changed quite a bit, so I had to take a bit to rework it. Now all I need is to actually, you know, write my plan out. But I have the chapter done! It's a bit shorter, but I feel like I found a good stopping place.
> 
> Thanks for waiting, guys.

To be human meant to suffer. Laura knew this well.

Her mother had lived for a very long time, had been pained with leaving her home in India, with childbirth, and then hunting monsters and with taking care of her only daughter. She had carried on for so very long, that when Laura had found her mother’s body deep in the woods, sickly colored and smelling of rot, she had hardly believed it. Her father had stopped talking, after that. Had curled into himself, kept to himself. Occasionally he kissed Laura on the forehead and treated her well. He stayed home when she went out. He had not left his room, and likely did not even know Carmilla was here.

The family business of hunting beasts, monsters, and vampires had fallen upon Laura. And Styria, she knew, was infested with them. Like the one who sat before her now, opposite on an armchair, sipping tea. Carmilla. Queen of vipers. Laura smiled into her cup.

“You see,” Laura said, cutting straight to the point of the matter, “I would like to be a vampire.”

For a second, Carmilla looked shocked. Then she laughed, a soft, fake laugh.

“You humans are so very… interesting. Why on earth would you want to be a vampire?”

“That’s private information.”

“I think I deserve to know.”

“Well,” said Laura, “why did you become a vampire?”

“Power,” Carmilla answered. “I wanted power. I wanted freedom. And I got it.” She sipped her tea. Laura studied the woman’s clawed fingers, clutched tight around her porcelain cup. She wondered if Carmilla’s transformation had been worth it.

“I want that too,” Laura said, and meant it.

Carmilla tilted her head. “Do you really?”

It was a better answer than the strangeness in her head.

Once, Laura had gone for a hunt- a normal hunt- and shot a deer in the leg. She’d approached with her knife as it fell, watching it buck and struggle, kicking at her with its hooves, making pitiful noises. It had been scared, terrified, and she had slaughtered it without hesitation. For its suffering she had a lovely meal, meat saved for the winter, and a new coat.

When she had found her mother, not long after, there had been bite marks in her withered neck, her corpse dried of blood. Her weapons and cloak had been taken. And Laura had blinked down at the body before her, and wrapped her mother up, and taken her home for the last time.

The hunter hunted its prey.

The human hunted the animal, the vampire hunted the human. And nobody hunted the vampire but its own prey. And if there was one thing Laura didn’t want, it was to be prey. Better to be the vampire, to be at the top. An existence of doing harm, yes. But was that much different than her existence now?

Laura couldn’t think of a way to explain this to Carmilla.

“Yes, Carmilla. I’d like power.”

“Then I can’t turn you. I don’t need _another_ rival.” Carmilla’s face twisted. “Speaking of that, I should really be going. You were such a fun little adventure, and I’d _love_ to drink you dry, but I have power to consolidate, and a travelling party to meet up with.”

“Wait-”

But Carmilla had already disappeared, leaving nothing but an open window swinging back and forth, catching the white curtains in the breeze.

Laura cursed. Carmilla was gone.

* * *

 

It rained overnight. When Laura went out in the morning with a hunting knife, the earth squelched beneath her boots. With every step the sound grew more and more irritating. She checked her traps- nothing caught. Laura scowled, stalking through the woods. The clatter of her footsteps, she hoped, would be enough to catch a vampire. Any vampire would do. Laura didn’t know if she would slaughter it or force it to turn her. And _damn,_ she had lost Carmilla.

Laura stopped walking. She had come to a clearing. Before her, in ruins, was a village. Small, squalid, the buildings long overtaken by moss and rain. Trees sprouted through roofs. The muddy path, if it could be called such, was flooded. Laura wandered through anyway.

She had come here once before when she was small. It had been destroyed even then. Laura remembered it like yesterday, wandering alone through the path. Curiosity piqued, she had glanced in the last hut remaining, only to find a vampire huddling within. She had not realized it was a vampire then, not until it had bared its teeth. A monstrous, hulking thing, with a viper’s face and teeth like knives and a grip that _hurt._ Her mother had appeared just in time to kill it, dragging it outside. It had burnt up in the sun, nothing but dust in the wind.

What was that line again? From dust you came, and to dust you will return?

That night, she had dreamed of a young vampire girl sucking her blood, with silvery hair and sharp eyes.

Laura glanced into the building now. In the decade or so she had been gone, it had fallen further into ruin, the roof eaten away over time. No vampires could hide here now in its darkness, for none was left untouched by light.

Further down the path, at the village’s end, was a cemetery. Laura left the decrepit hovel to investigate. Craggy rocks which had once been gravestones littered its floor, their names scratched off, illegible. The only building left standing was a mausoleum, its carved words faded from years of weathering. Laura stretched her neck to read them, pressing a calloused finger over the words.

_Mircalla von Karnstein._

Who had this woman been? To have such a rich mausoleum, with its ancient stone and fine chiseling? Someone rich.

_Mircalla._

Laura sighed. The sun had risen to the center of the sky, pressing heat on Laura’s shoulders. Her dark hair, tied back as it was, clung to the back of her neck. Laura scratched her arm, sighed, and turned away from the cemetery.

_Mircalla._

She ducked beneath a low hanging tree branch. There was no path, but she knew the way home instinctually, knew the forest from memory.

_Mircalla._

Wait.

Laura stopped, dead in her tracks. A bird called in the distance. She wiped a bead of sweat from her brow, leaning against a nearby tree.

_Carmilla._

The same letters in a different order. Laura slapped her forehead. It was obvious- perhaps a little _too_ obvious. Was she grasping at straws? Or could the richly dressed, suspicious vampire have a rich mausoleum in which to bury her body?

Laura glanced at the sky. It was day now. If a vampire were to sleep in its own coffin, it would be there. But Carmilla could easily have filled another coffin with earth. Home-earth, good earth- necessary for survival. Laura glanced back at the village, still so close. Something had to have caused its ruin.

She turned, sprinting back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all liked Laura! Honestly, I wish the characterization for her introductory chapter had been a little stronger. I'm going to do my best to deepen her character even more as the story continues, so look forward to that!


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